Temptation from Horus
by Memory in Crimson
Summary: A dark secret lies in the heart of Pharaoh Atem. He summons the most trustworthy of his priests and reveals his dark inclination.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own any aspect of the Yu-Gi-Oh! franchise, which makes most of you sigh with relief. I also didn't write "The Contendings of Horus and Set," from which I heavily based this story.

**warnings:** Sexual situations (incest and age gap). This is Vortexshipping, after all.

* * *

"Temptation from Horus"

Youthful lips parted as a lilting moan poured forth from a graceful throat. An experienced hand massaged a supple buttock, while the other hand caressed the delicately arched back. The younger lover embraced his guest tightly, hot breath burning against his skin.

This was never meant to be, but the Pharaoh was the flesh-and-blood god of Kemet. His priests were servants to all the gods, and therefore, it made sense to the young lover that the priest would obey any command.

However, a dreadful truth burdened the heart of the priest, even as he indulged the desire of his god-king. He knew that their tryst was wrong, but his words failed him. He could not bear the even heavier guilt of Pharaoh Atem's reaction to the truth.

So he remained silent. He did not protest as the Pharaoh kissed and sucked his lips, sighing the priest's name and burying his face in his soft, cascading, ashen hair. The priest groaned in a mixture of red-hot shame and the hint of sultry pleasure, and his thoughts became mired in origins of their illicit tryst.

* * *

The Pharaoh had asked his priests and his adviser Siamun who best among them kept secrets. Again and again, the High Priest Akhenaden's name had arisen. For a man who wielded the power to read minds and hearts as he pleased, remarkably, he did not abuse such power and instead become well-renowned for respecting the privacy of others. He was the man to whom many sought to confess, to seek mercy when their consciences could no longer bear the weight of their sins. He judged none who came and confided to him in private, ashamed and afraid, and he listened. He told them what penance to pay to the gods, and he never revealed their secrets to another.

Then again, Akhenaden commanded a legion of his own secrets, and he showed the kind of mercy he would desire if he were the one confessing.

Finally, Pharaoh Atem had called Akhenaden to his presence. The priest had found the scene of their rendezvous, the royal bed chamber, rather unusual. Then again, the young king had had to learn the ways of Kemetian politics very quickly after his father's untimely demise. Only the gods knew what he might have resorted to commit with so many woes and pressures. Therefore, the priest had gone to see him in that private manner, not only as his high priest but as a concerned member of the family.

The Pharaoh did not know who his uncle was or that he was even alive. He had been fed the same deceptive tale that Akhenaden's son had been: that Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen's brother had died protecting Kemet from its enemies. His real name was never used, and no hint of who he truly was ever revealed to the young prince. He was just a priest—high-ranking, one of six who wielded a powerful magickal item—but never to be known as more than that.

The air in the Pharaoh's bed chamber felt unusually chilled for an autumn evening. Like most Kemetians, Akhenaden did not believe in mere coincidences, but he had had no desire to jump to any conclusions because of the air. However, the Pharaoh had not eased his mind by dressing only in his loin cloth and not warmer robes. He had worried that His Majesty might have been suffering from a fever.

"No, my dear lord Akhenaden," the Pharaoh had replied. "I have no fever, but I do not feel well, either. I am sick in a way no mortal eye can see."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," the priest had said, still kneeling on the ground, "but I am not so skilled in the art of medicine. Perhaps if you consulted with—"

"That shall not help!"

His voice had become sharp, authoritative. Such harshness in a young voice had startled Akhenaden, but then he had relaxed when Pharaoh Atem had spoken again, his voice then trembling:

"I told you, I am sick in no way the mortal eye can see. It is a malady of the head and heart, and you—you are renowned for helping those with… with these kinds of 'illnesses.' I would not have asked you here if I thought I suffered from anything else."

The priest had smiled—not out of joy but to comfort—and risen. He had assured the Pharaoh that with penance and appeasement, the gods would have removed any blight that had settled upon his soul. He had needed only to confess what disturbed him, and Akhenaden would have helped as much as he, a high priest and the king's guardian, could.

When the Pharaoh's hands had clamped around his, Akhenaden had stiffened. His action had defied Kemetian protocol, and if the elder had acted in the other's stead (and in public, no less), it might have been considered greatly disrespectful.

Squeezing his hands tightly, the Pharaoh remarked: "My lord, you keep secrets so well. I would have not called you had opinions spoken otherwise. You are slow to rebuke, the sign of a cool and steady heart, and that is what I desire."

The words had flattered the priest but had also planted the seed of apprehension. He had begun to feel as though a younger version of himself were preparing to confess a grave, grave sin, and he had feared that Pharaoh Atem might have committed a crime similar to ones he ever longed to forget.

After the priest had vowed to judge slowly and never reveal his secret, His Majesty had whispered of the longing he had had for other men in the palace; of how little he had cared for even the fairest dancer or courtesan, no matter how hard he had tried; and the desire he had felt for another man's touch. The confession had bewildered Akhenaden absolutely, and he had been very glad that no other witness had attended. He had begged for a moment to contemplate the young Pharaoh's admittance, pacing slowly round the chamber as he had tried to devise an answer.

Then he had stopped before the Pharaoh and mustered a smile. He had replied, "Your Majesty, this is but a phase in your youth, a curiosity that shall not affect your future as a husband and father. I am certain many young men have felt as you do now, yet it shall pass one day—"

"But until that day," His Majesty had interjected, "I wish _now_ to indulge."

The priest had tipped his head to one side. "I fear, Your Majesty, you must elaborate. You said you felt like this was a malady—"

The Pharaoh had laughed. "Not the feelings themselves, my lord, but _suppressing_ them. I had feared telling any other about how I felt, knowing how much one would worry, perhaps even scold. But you—your heart is molded from compassion. It beats one with the heart of he who has sought your company, your… _affinity_, shall we say?"

"Majesty…"

The young ruler had stood upon the tips of his toes, wrapping his arms around the priest's neck. He had spoken softly and hotly near Akhenaden's ear:

"I shall be fair Horus to you, and you shall be the god Set to me, and I shall let you know my flesh."

The priest had gasped and jolted. His Majesty must have been suffering from some fever, for no fit mind would have proposed such an act. More horrifying had been that his comparison, to his unknowing, was all too true; for Akhenaden likened himself to that jealous god, and the Pharaoh, his nephew, like the beloved Horus. But contrary to the old tale, it had been now a lustful Horus who had enticed Set to lie with him.

"But… but my Pharaoh," the priest had stuttered, "it… it is forbidden. You are… and I… we…"

"Do not be ashamed of what your god commands of you," the Pharaoh had replied tranquilly. "You swore as a priest to serve the divine how ever the divine sees fit. And I see fit that you, most adept at keeping secrets, serve me."

He had been tempted to no longer keep one secret from the young Pharaoh. He should have resisted his hot beckoning. But Akhenaden's other secrets, his darker secrets, relied so much upon the Pharaoh never knowing one truth or another. Therefore, with hesitation and shame, he had obeyed his king.

* * *

The gentle moaning of his name awoke Akhenaden from his reminiscence. The illicit pair were nose-to-nose, but the priest easily spied the hint of an impish smirk. Then the Pharaoh leaned back and pressed his wet fingers against his mouth. He commanded him to taste, and the priest opened his mouth but a little. The Pharaoh slipped them upon his tongue, and Akhenaden grimaced, at which the younger man laughed.

"Perhaps it would have been more delicious," he said, "had I served my seed on a leaf of lettuce."

"You should have told me," the priest said.

The Pharaoh cooed and stroked his face. "I doubt a solar disk shall spring forth from your head, my friend."

"Laugh as you may," he said, "but the gods shall repay me for this—"

He was interrupted by a kiss, and when he was relinquished, he spoke no more but instead gazed into the Pharaoh's crimson eyes, which were narrow with passion.

"You need not fear retribution," he assured him as he stroked and stiffened the priest's member. "To the contrary, you greatly please me, and you shall please me more by keeping your vow of secrecy; for no other shall understand, but you—your heart beats one with mine."

Then he beckoned the priest to recline and rest his weary head. Akhenaden sighed and silently cursed his compliance. The young king was no timid creature. His lack of experience in some things did not frighten or hinder him. In fact, he seemed more eager to experiment as a result. Nevertheless, Akhenaden could have never foreseen this aspect of him, even though lust blazes brightest during a man's younger years.

The priest gasped when a cool ointment touched his member. He gazed up at the Pharaoh, who applied it generously. He begged to know what the young man intended, and with authoritative tranquility, the Pharaoh replied, "I have told you, I shall let you know my flesh; for I am curious to know how such a thing feels."

"But my king, you—" But his voice strained as those fingers caressed him harder. He could not convince him otherwise, for he was stubborn like his father. He pushed the priest back down and leaned over him, lips close as he spoke.

"Be not afraid," he assured him. "Let your heart be glad like the rest of your body, for I have given you a privilege no other shall have." Then he kissed him and placed himself atop the priest, moaning as he slowly descended upon him.

With fingers twisting in the sheets, the priest groaned and swore he would soon erupt. The misgiving in his heart vanished as he finally succumbed to temptation. He rose slowly, trembling, filling the Pharaoh to the brim, embracing him with one arm as he murmured, "My Horus, my Horus, what have you done to me?" Then he bucked his hips, causing the young ruler to cry out.

The illicit pair clung desperately to one another, to the sheets, to anything in which they could tangle their fingers. Smooth sighs had become drawn-out cries, and bewildered gasping nothing more than hissed curses. Their tryst lasted briefly, each reaching the peak of his pleasure, essence flowing forth.

The priest collapsed back and the Pharaoh, atop him. The younger man brushed away long strands of ashen hair from the priest's sultry face before lightly caressing every feature upon it, including that sacred, gold eye.

"My loyal priest," he sighed. "You could have read my mind, known my intentions, and fled. I would have not punished you for resisting, but I am glad that you stayed."

Then he asked, "Why did you not resist more? And from where came that sudden passion towards the end?" he added with a laugh. "I wish I could have seen more of it."

A slow, subtle smile appeared upon Akhenaden's face. He desired to confess to the Pharaoh that a part of him yearned to see him subjugated. It was a dark secret, a loathsome sensation that he locked away every day in order to function around and with his king. But that was just it: it was merely locked away; it still existed, and in the final moments of their passion, that longing to hold dominion over the Pharaoh had suddenly manifested.

Withholding his confession, the priest instead lifted his hand a gently stroked the Pharaoh's face. He replied, "I have assumed that I am not supposed to be a man of passion any more. I reserve that privilege to men your age."

Pharaoh Atem grinned and grasped his hand. "Be not so humble, my lord. You have fire in you still." Then he kissed his hand and added, "But we shall keep that secret, too, I assume."

The priest quietly agreed. None else needed to know, and none would.


End file.
